


Love, Keith

by NightWinds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Depression, Heavy Angst, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Suicide Attempt(s), klangst, not related to Love Simon, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11512977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightWinds/pseuds/NightWinds
Summary: Keith has depression. Lance tries his best to help him throughout the rough years.





	Love, Keith

**Author's Note:**

> please, be careful reading this. If you get triggered by : suicide description, suicide attempts, depression, and death, please read carefully or go read some fluffy Klance. This is anything but fluffy.

Keith was five years old when he made his first friend.

He had just moved into his second foster home, his first foster family were finally able to get pregnant after over seven years of trying … _they didn’t need him anymore_. That was the first real thought that kept little five-year-old Keith up most nights. 

His new friend and neighbor, Lance Waters, helped him through those rough times. 

They would sleepover at each other’s houses more often than not and Lance would hold Keith in his small arms and sing to him until Keith fell asleep. Sometimes it would take merely minutes, but sometimes it could take more than an hour and by then Keith had forgone the idea of sleep. He would cuddle into Lance and pretend he was asleep until Lance finally drifted off, then Keith would sneak away as silent as possible and watch TV with the volume completely off until nine AM when Lance woke up every morning. 

A couple minutes before nine, he would curl up on the purple blanket that had become a permanent fixture on Keith’s bedroom floor, and make it seem like he was just waking up.

His foster mother didn’t want them to sleep in Keith’s twin-sized bed together, but Keith had no idea why. She said the carpeted-floor would give them more room to move around and the young boy believed her for some time.

As they got older, Keith’s foster mother wouldn’t let Lance stay over as much as he had been for years. She said it wasn’t healthy for two boys to spend so much time together, whatever that meant.

By sixth grade, they only had sleepovers once every other weekend.

It was the middle of eighth grade when Lance first found razorblades in Keith’s private bathroom. He didn’t think much of it at the time. Though that following Monday, Keith wasn’t in school.

Assuming he was sick, right as he got home from school, Lance filled up a thermos of matzo ball soup (Keith didn’t like the classic chicken noodle soup, Lance had learned early on) and carried it over to the house on his left, Keith’s house.

He rang the doorbell and Keith’s foster dad, Ben, answered the door. Ben’s eyes were red and his face was puffy, if Lance were to guess, he would say that Ben had been crying. The question is: why? The fourteen year old had never seen Keith’s foster dad cry, so something bad must have happened.

“Lance, it’s good to see you, boy,” Ben sniffled. “Keith isn’t here right now, but you can leave a message if you would like.”

“I brought him his favorite soup to make him feel better. When will he be back?” Lance questioned innocently.

Ben opened the door wider and gestured Lance inside. “Why don’t you come in, I have something I should tell you,” Ben said as his eyes started watering again.

Lance was in the door and sat on the plush couch in the living room in a heartbeat. “What’s up with Keith, is he okay?”

“That’s the thing. I think you’re old and close enough to Keith that he wouldn’t mind if I told you. Awhile back, Keith was clinically diagnosed with a severe case of depression,” Ben paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “This morning, Mary and I were worried because Keith hadn’t come down for a family breakfast like he does every morning before school. He was due to leave for school in less than five minutes and Keith still wasn’t downstairs. My wife sensed that something wasn’t right, so she went to check on him.

“The light to his bathroom wasn’t on, though the door was locked. She called me upstairs and we tried knocking, but there was no answer. I grabbed the spare key to his bathroom from downstairs. When I opened it, he was in the bathtub and barely breathing. He-” Ben’s shoulders shook with effort as he tried to hold back his tears. “He had cut his wrists.”

Nothing was processing in Lance’s frantic brain. “Where is he? Can I see him?”

“The hospital downtown. You’ll have to ask your parents if you can go with me to see him.”

So that’s what Lance did. He raced to his house, making the trip there in record time, begged his mom to let him go (which she said yes to right away), and he was back on Keith’s front porch within five minutes.

The ride to the hospital was agony. Lance still had no idea what was going on, all he knew was that Keith was hurt and Lance needed to be with him. As he walked into the elevator to go up four levels to Keith’s room, his palms radiated heat with the thermos of soup. _Keith’s_ soup.

The sight of his best friend hooked up to machines with bandages around his wrists was almost too much for Lance. His hands were trembling with nerves when he finally set the soup down on the table next to the bed.

Keith slowly opened his eyes to gaze at Lance. “Sorry I wasn’t at school. My doctor said I should be on a seventy-two hour watch, meaning I won't be at school until Friday unless I don’t go to school on Friday either.”

That was the first of many times Keith missed multiple days of school.

One particular bad instance was in their junior year of high school.

The best friends were sleeping, once again on the purple blanket sprawled on Keith’s bedroom floor. It was around two in the morning when Keith screamed himself awake. Lance, who was wide-awake at the first terrified sound that came out of Keith’s mouth, immediately reached out to bring Keith tighter into his chest.

For the first time, Keith pushed Lance away. On shaking legs, he dragged himself to his bathroom and shut the door. Lance heard a thud as Keith slid to sit against the door to avoid anyone coming in. Since the eighth grade incidence, Keith’s parents replaced his bathroom door with one that couldn’t lock for Keith’s safety. His foster parents vowed to never open the door unless they thought Keith was in danger. The teen didn’t enjoy not having a lock, but he understood that it really was for his own good, even if he didn’t appreciate the sense of vulnerability at having a non-locking door. 

Lance knew Keith didn’t have anything sharp in his bathroom, the doctors said it was the best option, so he assumed his friend would be safe there. Like most times in life, Lance was wrong. 

He never heard any water running so he knew Keith couldn’t drown himself or try to get himself electrocuted. His prescription medicine was downstairs in the kitchen so he could easily take them with food. There wasn’t any type of rope-like object in the young boy’s bathroom. It was a completely safe room.

What he didn’t expect was the sharp crack of glass being broken. His mirror.

Without hesitation, Lance ran into the room next door and pounded on Ben and Mary’s bedroom door. “Keith,” he shouted and ran back to the bathroom.

“Buddy, can you open the door? It’s me, Lance,” Lance urged. “Whatever you dreamt about isn’t real, Keith, it’s okay, you don’t have to hurt yourself.”

There was a muttered response from the other side of the door. “It won’t stop, Lance, please make it stop.”

“What won't stop? Please talk to me. Open the door,” Lance begged. By then, Keith’s parents came rushing in the room; Lance gave them the signal to keep quiet.

A sharp cry was his only response.

Lance tried the doorknob but there was a weight pushing back on it. Keith’s body was still pressing against the door. “Keith? Please move so I can open the door.”

When the weight was removed from the other side of the door, Lance took it was a win. Turns out, it was a loss. Once he was able to open the door a crack, three worried faces peered in. Keith wasn’t against the door. No, he was slumped over on the ground, rocking a piece of glass through his thigh over and over again. Once one cut got too deep, he moved onto the next section of his leg.

Lance wasn’t able to see Keith for a year after that. It was a hard time for both boys. Lance was without a best friend while Keith was without his family (which, by this point, included Lance).

His doctor and parents decided it was best if he stayed in a psychiatry facility in case he had another suicidal attempt. 

His condition greatly improved by the time Keith was finally allowed to go home.

The first thing Lance noticed when he swept Keith up in his arms as a greeting, was that Keith was different. He wasn’t hugging back and he had a blank look to his face.

It was the new medication his parents said, it made him sleepy and seem distant. None of that mattered to Lance; he finally had his best friend back after being so long without him.

Keith went back to high school and Lance went to college. The shorter of the two had missed his senior year of high school and his foster parents weren’t letting him drop out.

Reluctantly, Lance had moved out of his childhood home to be closer to his college, he left Keith behind. While only being temporary, Lance found that he missed being able to look out his bedroom window and see Keith’s brown house. Now, the two boys only hung out once a month, them both being busy with their daily lives to find time for each other.

What Lance didn’t know, was that Keith _needed_ Lance. His nightmares came back full force the day after Lance moved out. Ben and Mary were already too preoccupied with trying to find a way to stay out of debt to help him, and Keith felt like it would be better if he didn’t disturb them. He didn’t tell anyone.

With his reoccurring nightmares, Keith stopped sleeping. The bags under his eyes magnified without anyone knowing the real reason why. He liked it that way, nobody worried about him more than they had too … Keith didn’t feel like a bother.

His self-worth was thrown out the window the first time he saw how much his first medical bill was. All of their debt was because he wasn’t able to finish the job of killing himself. If he were dead, they wouldn’t have such a high medical bill, right?

The knowing that death was always an option for him comforted him in his weakest moments. Deep down, he knew it was the depression talking and that he really didn’t want to die, though his depression decided to ignore his cries for help.

He sighed into the eerie quietness of his room. _Just one more year until I can get out of here and see Lance. I can do this,_ he urged himself to believe.

The dread and darkness that was always _just_ under his skin rose up to engulf him. _How do you know Lance wants to see you? Maybe he moved on. Why would he be friends with the basket case that was Keith Sewt, when he could be friends with anyone he wanted? You might not even get to see Lance with how stupid you are. Do you really think you can graduate?_ the voice inside his head screamed.

Silent tears were running down Keith’s face as he quietly opened his bedroom door and snuck downstairs into his father’s office. His whole body was shaking until he latched onto a pair of blue scissors in his father’s desk drawer.

He brought them to his right ear, thinking he would be able to move onto his left before he lost too much blood. Not in his right mind, he thought not being able to physically hear would stop the voices.

It was an excruciating pain when the scissors ripped through his right eardrum. Keith screamed like he never had before, all the strength leaving his body immediately. 

He was beyond disappointed with himself when his arms were shaking too much to do the same to his left ear. Besides, Ben was at his side before his first tear ever hit the, now forever stained, plush carpet. 

Keith could just make out the sound of Mary in the doorway, she was sobbing while on the phone. The pained boy assumed she was calling an ambulance to pick up his poor-excuse-for-a-human body. _Great, another medical bill. Why do I keep causing them trouble? Why haven’t they gotten rid of me yet? It’s not like they love me like they would love a real son._ Keith was ready to try and block out the hurtful voices in his head, but he found that it was his own voice that was causing him anguish. No more was there a leering, unknown, voice swarming his head with unwanted thoughts, now it was his own mind that turned against itself.

How was he supposed to get rid of that one?

Apparently, going deaf in one ear wasn’t the way. If anything, it only made it worse. 

 

There wasn’t a day that went by when Keith didn’t feel like he was better off dead. The only thing keeping him alive was Lance. The boy he had grown to love more than everyone else. 

These feelings towards the taller boy weren’t new. He’s known for a very long time that he loved Lance. Lance was the only one who cared enough to remember his favorite soup and cuddle up with him when he wasn’t able to sleep. 

Keith knew his feelings were most likely not recuperated (but he had hope). That’s how he found himself, early one August morning, standing at Lance’s apartment door. 

Keith was upset that he was never able to move out of his foster house, something about his safety or something, so he was obviously a little jealous that Lance got to live away from the chaos. 

Lance opened the door on the second knock, looking like he had been up for hours. “Hey buddy! I didn’t think I’d see you here. Is something wrong?” His brown eyes widened when his gaze drifted to Keith’s right ear where he had a hearing aid snuggly fit inside.

When Keith was first given the hearing aid, he had scoffed, knowing it was never going to help. He was right, it never did, but it made his parents sleep better at night knowing that they were doing the most they could to help him.

Keith motioned up to his ear. “Like the new technology, yeah? In case you were wondering, breaking your eardrum doesn’t stop the voices inside your head,” Keith let out a self-depreciating laugh.

As if on instinct, Lance reached out and let his hand cup Keith’s right ear. He slowly pulled his hand away when he realized what he’d done. “Why don’t you come in?”

Keith took a deep breath. “I’m okay here,” he paused and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m just going to get this over with … I love you, Lance.”

Lance grinned. “I love you too, man! You’re my best friend, of course I love your mullet-head.”

“No, like I’m _in_ love with you.”

Lance’s face dropped. “Oh,” he uttered.

“That’s it? ‘Oh’, that’s all you have to say about my lousy confession?” Keith was a tad bit angry.

“I’m sorry, um … well, the thing is …” As if on cue a soft _woman’s_ voice called out from deeper within Lance’s apartment.

“Lance~” she singsonged, “Who’s at the door?”

Keith paled. “Oh. Okay. I understand. Ah, forget I said anything.” Tears were threatening to spill from his eyes, so he turned away from his friend -- were they still friends after that fiasco? – and scurried down the poorly-lit hallway that led outside.

“Keith, wait!” Lance called from behind him. The pounding of footsteps told Keith that Lance was chasing after him. 

Keith started running and never stopped to look behind him.

 

Looking back on the heartbreaking moment, Keith wasn’t sure if that was the final nail in his coffin or just one of the many. 

He sat at his desk, writing in a dull pencil (his parents were the ones to sharpen his pencils and then wear them out, in case Keith decided to stab himself), two notes: one for his parents and one for Lance, the only three people in this world that cared for him in the slightest.

There were more tear stains on Lance’s note than the other, but that didn’t stop him from filling up a page of jumbled up thoughts. 

Keith set his notes in two different envelopes, each marked for their owner to read. Around four in the morning, he snuck downstairs and put each bottle of his medication in his sweatshirt pockets. 

The trek upstairs felt lighter with the pills secured on his person. _It would finally end tonight. He would be free._

Keith got comfortable on his bed. With the sturdiest hands he’s had in a very long time, he unscrewed each of the bottles, pouring all the contents into his hand. His left hand threw the empty pill bottles on the floor and reached out for his plastic cup of water.

The first ten went down without a fuss. The more and more he took, the more tired he felt. As he finally downed all his medication, his brain played back his most happy memories (mostly including just Lance).

He fell asleep with tears wetting his pillow and a smile on his face.

 

Lance watched as Keith ran down the road, he felt helpless. 

Lance knew he should chase after his best friend and apologize, maybe even let himself be open to the idea of dating his one and only friend. 

He felt dread when he shuffled back into his apartment. He needed time to think. “Tomorrow,” he murmured to himself. Tomorrow he was going to apologize and maybe kiss the living crap out of Keith if the apology went well. 

The girl in his room, Amanda, his _study partner_ with an obvious crush on him greeted him with a kiss on the cheek when he returned. “Hey, babe, you knew that loser?” he sneered.

“That ‘loser’ was my best friend and I think you scared him away,” Lance gritted through his teeth. “And for the last time, we are not dating! I don’t love you, Amanda, and I won't, ever, so please stop calling me babe.”

She let out a puff of breath. “Jeez, what’s got your mood so sour?”

Lance slumped against his cheap floral-print couch. “Will you please leave? We can study for chemistry this weekend. I just need to be alone right now.”

Without Lance’s attention that she craved, she left without another word.

Lance didn’t get any sleep that night; his entire body screamed that something wasn’t right. He had no idea what, but he knew it wasn’t a good feeling.

At noon, he showed up at Keith’s doorstep with roses (cheesy, he knows) and matzo ball soup. He rang the doorbell and waited for someone to answer.

The door swung open and Mary’s, slightly worried, face appeared. “Hello, Lance, Keith is still sleeping but you can go wake him up. It’s time to take his afternoon medication anyway,” she smiled but it looked forced. Lance didn’t comment on it, he just smiled and snuck up the stairs to see his friend.

The door was shut, so he opened it as quietly as possible as to not disturb Keith just yet.

He found his effort to stay quiet was a waste, because Keith was awake. He had to have been; he was smiling (though his eyes were shut).

“Hey sleepyhead. I want to talk to you. Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday. Amanda’s just my friend and if I had a crush on anyone it’d be you,” Lance nervously laughed, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

Keith didn’t respond.

Lance chuckled. “I know you can hear me. You still have one good ear,” Lance joked. 

He stepped over closer to his unmoving friend. 

“Oh come on, that joke didn’t work? I’m sorry you’re mad at me; I would be too, but the thing is-” Lance trailed off, seeing the four empty pill bottles on the floor.

“Keith?” Lance asked more loudly than before. In a blind panic, Lance turned to set the soup and roses haphazardly on Keith’s desk, not seeing the two notes propped on the desk. 

In two quick steps, Lance was at Keith’s bedside, kicking the pill bottles away so he could kneel on the ground. He shook Keith’s shoulders, Keith didn’t respond. “Keith! This isn’t funny anymore. If you were trying to get me back, it worked. If you wanted a confession you can have it, you can have my entire heart if you want. I’ve always kind of thought it was yours anyway.”

He shook him again. Seeing no other option, he pulled back Keith’s eyelids to see dead, pupil-blown, eyes staring back at him.

Lance’s body shook with sobs before he could even really register that Keith was dead. “Ben, Mary, come quick it’s Keith!” he shouted as much as his partially closed throat would let him.

The door was pushed back wider as the two worried parents burst into the room. There were three sets of wails as they all crowded around Keith’s unmoving body.

Ben stepped on a pill bottle, snapping it with the weight of his foot as he stumbled to Lance’s side.

Mary couldn’t bear to see her son lying dead, so she turned to his desk. The sight of the roses, soup, and the notes sent her cries echoing through the room. She found his suicide notes.

“Lance, there’s one for you,” she shakily handed Lance an envelope with his name on it. The tears that ran down everyone’s face smeared the cursive ‘Lance’ on the cover.

Ben left the room to call the ambulance for the very last time.

With sirens in the background and a limp hand tangled with his own, Lance read the letter:

_Dear Lance,_

_I want to make this clear from the beginning, this is_ not _your fault. Please don’t blame yourself._

_My decision to end my life has been on my mind since I can remember. Depression isn’t a fun thing, Lance. With all of the attempts on my life, I think we both knew I wouldn’t make it past thirty. We were both dreading the day where my depression would kick my ass, it seems like today is the day._

_My own mind turned against me, you can't even think to know how horrible that made me feel. I’m not writing this so you would pity me, I’m writing this so you are finally able to know every part of me. I tried my best to keep my depression hidden, though you know very well how that turned out._

_I don’t want to hurt you, Lance, I hope that me passing away will fuel you to do great things and not stay friends with some shitty, no good, friend like me. Strange, huh? I’m writing a suicide note and there is still nothing good I can say about myself, I guess that’s typical of me though. I’m guessing you have good things to say about me in that pretty little head of yours._

_If you could do me a favor, could you save it for my funeral? I want to know that at least one person will have good things to say about me. So everyone there knows I wasn’t just a depressed sack of shit. You could practice your speech in my room if you wanted to. Then, by some weird magical force (let me dream, alright?) I’ll be able to listen and tell you if your speech sucks or not before you embarrass yourself in front of the few people that knew who I was and cared enough to show up to a twenty-year-old’s funeral._

_One last sob story until I’ll let you be on your way. I would like to thank you for being by my side all my life. You are the only reason I lived this long. Thank you, Lance, really._

_Please don’t cry too hard, I've always told you you’re an ugly crier (sorry buddy, I had to say it one last time). Even if your crying face wasn’t the prettiest, I still loved you. You are the best thing that happened to me._

_I love you._

_Love,_

_Keith_


End file.
